Amends
by itslivinginallofus
Summary: Santana is much nicer to boys than she is to girls, and it has everything to do with sexuality. Not in the way people think, though. Quinn/Santana, Santana/Quinn, Quinntana femslash. Please review as you feel compelled!
1. Chapter 1

AUTHORS NOTE: This story is copyrighted and cross-posted on a few LJ communities. Please review as you feel compelled! More to come soon, although I'm not sure yet whether one or two chapters will follow.

DISCLAIMER: Sadly, I own nothing pertaining to Glee. If I did, it would go a little something like this…

Santana Lopez was not nice to girls.

In fact, to the many she had picked on, pulverized, and paraded past in just two short years at McKinley, she was nothing short of unadulterated evil in its purest form. Deadpanning taunts about the bodies they would never have or blatantly ear-marking the boys they would never date, both tears and insatiable emotion had welled up within the recipients of her abuse, each one dumbfounded at how the privileged Latina seemed to get a sick sort of enjoyment out of what she did to them.

Her opposite sex peers, however, had a much different opinion of the fiery cheerleader, who they murmured sexually aggressive comments about and to as she strutted down the hallway, hips swinging impeccably to the beat of the porno music playing in their heads. Her tightly-fit uniform left little to the imagination to begin with, and she took it upon herself to leave even less with the obscenities she'd often whisper back, her slow bend to the floor to pick up something she purposely dropped, and the overly dramatic moans she'd release into messy mouths to bring boys' brains to something far more advanced than kissing.

But as she had once recited every week - and meant, despite what her classmates would likely insist - "It's all about the teasing and not about the pleasing."

Santana Lopez was not nice to girls; but not because she didn't like them…

…ironically, it was because she liked them a little too much.

Whenever she was nice to girls, they wanted to be friends. Being friends with girls meant letting them in. Letting them in meant getting close to them, and that she simply couldn't risk.

Brittany was a special case, because interestingly their friendship was less complicated to Santana, even though it _was _friendship with occasional sex served on the side. After all, it did profit them both in different ways. Brittany's sex drive rivaled that of even the horniest of their male counterparts, and her openness to sleep with both genders and all types was effortless for the blue-eyed blonde. It didn't stop the raven-haired girl, however, from reaping her own brand of benefits and enjoying a release she didn't seem to get quite often enough.

Although she had briefly entertained the idea of dating Brittany in the past, it had always been swept from her mind just as quickly as it had arrived. Apart from the facts that their situation worked so well as it stood, and that Brittany was allergic to monogamy, the misunderstood vixen knew pursuing anything romantic would be nothing but a fruitless distraction from the only person she could ever remember truly wanting to be romantic with.

Santana Lopez was not nice to Quinn Fabray.

Especially not recently, although even what had previously been their "friendship" in most recent times wasn't exactly the kind that pre-teen magazines and melodramas try to encourage. Instead of growing closer, the past year, and particularly the past few months, had driven a wedge between the two. Noah Puckerman was perhaps the easiest target for the drastic decline of their camaradarie, seeing as the two girls "shared" him for a brief period, but even if Quinn could write it off to the guy that admittedly neither of them were that crazy about, the other girl just couldn't.

Santana Lopez was not nice to Quinn Fabray; but not because she didn't like her…

…ironically, it was because she liked her a little too much.


	2. Chapter 2

After years of being on the receiving end and loathing it, Santana finally began to understand the boys-teasing-girls on the elementary school playground mentality: you tease the girl you like so that she won't suspect anything. Unfortunately, elementary school was long gone, and the Latina traded teasing for downright nastiness and alienation. As fully expected and half hoped, the strong-willed, no-nonsense Quinn eventually stopped taking Santana's crap, and any fraying thread their friendship had been hanging by was effectively severed. They sometimes would exchange non-threatening glances in the hallways or even adrenaline-induced smiles on stage, but it was a far cry from the way things used to be.

Things actually used to be amazing, Santana recalled with bittersweet wistfulness. Memories that were somehow both blurry and distinct flickered in mental imagery: first, a foreign recollection of being a doe-eyed 5-year-old, picking nervously at the hole in one of her homemade Mary Jane shoes as she sat with her knees pulled tightly to her chest on the carpeted church floor. Her first week in a new town and not only was she obviously the most unkempt child in the room, but also the only one without a Bible. She more clearly remembers the golden hair she saw out of the corner of her eye as the girl who wore it in curls scooted beside her, quietly offering to share her book. In retrospect, it was almost like the young blonde purposely kept her voice down, to spare Santana any unwanted attention. But in true Quinn fashion, she not-so-subtly nudged the other girl's drawn-up knees into a relaxed position, spreading the Bible over both of their laps. While even in her childlike innocence Santana knew that this would be a moment she would never forget, she had no way of grasping the significance it would truly have until later.

Next her visions played like a montage of first play dates and sleepovers that turned into seconds, thirds, and soon reached immeasurable counts before the girls had even turned 6. The young duo confidently approached benchmark moments in their young lives, like first days of school, trips to the dentist, and otherwise potentially nerve-wracking moments largely undaunted, as long as their fingers were intertwined with one another. Even as a child, she had always admired their interlocked contrasting complexions; "like peaches and cinnamon" she recalled pointing out to her fair-skinned counterpart, smiling at the giggle her comment elicited from the other girl.

More vividly, she recollected the early junior high days and how suddenly, her hand would sweat when pressing itself to Quinn's. How the now slightly taller girl's laugh would cause a blush to consume her cheeks rather than just a smile. How what used to be meaningless changing in front of one another would now draw the moisture out of Santana's mouth and incline her eyes to linger longer than she knew she should on the blonde's body. Although she couldn't deny the change in her reactions, there were times that she was almost positive she wasn't the only one who things were different for. Quinn would seem to get oddly possessive – more than usual – when a boy's gaze would linger on Santana at school. She considered of course that it might be jealousy motivated by boys, but Quinn didn't lack her share of admirers, and there was something about the way she'd always lock their arms tightly, almost forcefully, and quickly suggest they have a sleepover that made the Latina think otherwise. Also, even though they had retained the same joint sleeping habits for years, there reached a point where Santana could have sworn that Quinn would let out a shuddered exhale as tan-skinned arms would wrap around her waist from behind.

While the previous images had in places been hazy, there was one memory that despite 3 years passing was like watching an HD, surround sound movie; a crystal-clear, verbatim account of the day that effectively changed everything:

_13 years old and overjoyed with 7__th__ grade having ended earlier that day, Quinn and Santana were sprawled out on their stomachs on the floor, watching "Happy Feet" on DVD and skimming their yearbooks. It seemed to be their lucky day: the start of summer, their new favorite movie, and Mr. Fabray's atypical allowing them to use the "good TV" in his den as he worked. Being together was just the icing on the cake, and as Quinn drew a dramatic black and red 'X' over that idiot Karofsky's yearbook picture, Santana sighed contentedly, closing her own yearbook and resting her head on her best friend's shoulder, closing her eyes to absorb the moment. Life felt absolutely perfect, becoming even more so when Quinn's toes gradually found the arch of Santana's foot._

"_Judy!" sounded the familiar bellow of Mr. Fabray, startling both girls out of their momentary reverie as Mrs. Fabray quickly floated into the room, standing beside her husband who was sitting at his computer._

"_What is it, Sweetheart?" she asked attentively._

"_Did you know that Jennie's college gives scholarships to homosexuals who have been rejected by their parents?" he interrogated, the disgust apparent in his voice. Jennie was Quinn's older sister who had just graduated high school and decided to attend a mid-sized state university._

_The word 'homosexual' slammed Santana's heart restlessly into the wall of her chest, as it was one she had been running through her own mind quite a bit recently. The way that Quinn's father said it, however, was far different from her own interpretation of the word, and it terrified her._

"_What? No, of course I didn't know that! I was under the impression that the school had strong, religious convictions!" Mrs. Fabray quickly replied._

_The dissatisfied man exhaled in exasperation. "I left this decision up to the two of you with the understanding that you wouldn't pick some hippie, liberal arts institution. I was worried when you mentioned a state school, but giving free rides to gays for their depravity? That's just shy of communism."_

_Before Quinn's mom could defend herself, Santana's curiosity got the best of her. She didn't know what the words 'depravity' or 'communism' meant, but she was desperate to decipher the hostile tone of this conversation. "Why is that a bad thing?" she asked, immediately unnerved at the way both adult heads snapped in her direction. "I mean, isn't it good to help people who need it?" _

_A moment of uncomfortable silence hung in the balance before Mrs. Fabray stepped in, hoping to ingratiate herself to her husband and still be informative. "Well… what about the children whose parents have rejected them because they're Christian?" _

_Once again, Santana couldn't contain her instincts when she let out a quiet laugh. "I don't think that's as common as kids needing it because they're gay."_

_As if Mrs. Fabray's expression hadn't spoken for itself, she huffed, "Well, if that's the case, then I don't know what this world is coming to," before storming out of the room._

_Unable to let things end there, Santana took another deep breath before once again addressing Mr. Fabray. "I – I didn't mean to make you guys mad, I just… I don't understand why this is a bad thing. What about the people who are born gay?"_

_The look of anger, pity, and disappointment that appeared in Mr. Fabray's eyes stole the young girl's breath in the worst way possible as he stood to address the both of them with an important lesson. "People aren't born gay, girls. It's a choice they make to be sexually deviant in order to rebel against God's plan. Maybe you should put away those yearbooks and open your Bibles instead," he all but sneered before leaving the room and setting after his wife._

_The shorter girl's eyes quickly wore their way into the carpet, and even though she hadn't looked at Quinn since her parents began their exchange, she could tell that the words resonated within her just as deeply, as the blonde subtly inched away from her, her toes breaking contact with Santana's foot. _

Almost immediately, the entire dynamic between the two evolved into something that was intrinsically the complete antithesis of the direction they had been moving in. Inviting touches turned into cold, empty distance. Bi-weekly sleepovers morphed into monthly after school homework sessions, ending long before nightfall. Words of encouragement and admiration became undercutting snipes and exchanges of attitude, and for Santana, resting just below the surface the entire time was the shell of her former self, silently aching to regain what she and Quinn used to have before a 2-minute conversation rocked their joint and separate worlds so violently. Even with distractions like cultivating her popularity however she could, introducing Brittany into she and Quinn's clique, and feigning smiles at guys in Letterman jackets, the raven-haired girl's resolve only weakened with time. Each day that passed only built stronger within her a need to fall into Quinn's arms like she did once upon a time, begging her to go back to the way things were. There were even a few times where she daydreamed up a ploy where she'd ask for Quinn's help on their current Cheerios' routine, and when everyone else had left, corner her with a staggering kiss in the locker room.

Right as these thoughts were becoming nearly impossible to suppress, Puck provided what seemed like the perfect excuse to set a final barrier in place, one that fueled by faux hostility would be harder to overcome than the seemingly hundreds of other barriers Santana had attempted, yet failed, to construct in the past 3 years.

Not long after publicly denouncing Quinn for "stealing her man" was when Santana started sinking her proverbial hooks into Puck and fooling around with Brittany every so often. The grunting jock gave her a daytime decoy while the loveable ditz sometimes eased her mind at night. She would catch herself squinting her eyes just enough in the darkness to blur out anything but blonde hair, biting her lip to prevent herself from calling out a name that even Brittany couldn't be fooled into believing was hers. On these nights, she continuously insisted that the other girl face away from her while sleeping, only ever able to bring her arms halfway around Brittany's waist from behind.

She had finally constructed enough diversions to ease the pain that the past several years had been rife with, and being away from McKinley for the summer only helped the cause. That's why her knees dangerously threaten to give out on her when she opens her door to see Quinn Fabray, for the first time in months, standing on front her steps.

"Hi," the familiar voice exhales, the sound waves traveling directly to Santana's beating chest, "We need to talk."

**One more chapter to go... Reviews? :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**DISCLAIMER: "Still don't own anything," she proclaimed with a sigh ;) **

**Thank you so much to those of you who have read and reviewed so far! This is the last chapter, so please let me know how you think it turned out! XOXO, you guys are amazing, thank you again!  
**

If it weren't for the nosy hovering of Mrs. Lopez by the door after Quinn rang the bell, awkwardly gripping the blonde into a tight hug, and speaking a mile a minute in Spanglish about how much she missed having her around, Santana would have slung whatever kind of verbal punch it took to send her former friend away and regain a normal breathing pattern.

To make matters infinitely worse, the excitable woman insisted that the former head cheerleader stay for dinner, even offering to make her favorite dish. Santana tried frantically to signal to her mother to renege the invitation immediately, but she wasn't surprised that her efforts were to no avail. Mrs. Lopez had always seemed to take Quinn's disappearance from her daughter's life almost as hard as Santana, having always referred to the hazel-eyed girl as "familia." As the young Latina knew, familia was always welcome for dinner.

Mrs. Lopez shooed the girls out of the kitchen, otherwise known as her respite, while she cooked, and so the two girls trudged what felt like a day-long hike up the stairs to Santana's bedroom. The shorter girl quickened her pace once she reached the landing, shoving the door to her room open to see if there was any mess she needed to clean up, internally slapping her own wrist when she realized what she was doing.

She saw the now estranged girl silently scanning the room with her eyes, observing the few things that were the same since last they got together and the several things that had changed. As Quinn's gaze found the picture frames that used to house pictures of she and the Latina, Santana stepped over to the door, pulled it shut, and stood with her back against it.

Hearing the door close, Quinn turned to face Santana, words seeming to fail her as she opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. The softness in the blonde's eyes scared her, and her heartbeat reached a new level of escalation when after several moments of silence, Quinn releases a deep breath and reaches forward to hug the smaller girl. The darker girl, whose arms were already folded tightly across her chest, stiffly maintained her stance. Internally, she pleaded that the blonde would unhand her, since even an innocent hug almost spurned a whimper from the girl who had craved her touch for so long. After a few awkward seconds of unrequited contact, Quinn did get the hint and pull away, mumbling a defeated "Okay..." under her breath.

Eyes darting back and forth at an alarming rate, like they always seemed to when she was talking to Quinn in recent days, Santana did everything to keep her guard securely in place. "So?" she asked.

Quinn leaned against Santana's dresser, her nervousness now apparent as she brought her voice down to a near-whisper. "Um, well... I've been doing a lot of thinking. Last semester, since I gave up the - my daughter," she corrected, swallowing hard and likewise twisting Santana's stomach, "and all throughout the summer, and I'm a different person now."

This wasn't news to Santana, who had more than noticed the positive changes in her fair-skinned counterpart. She had for her own sake turned a blind eye to the positive ways that Quinn had been changing, as all it did was make her long for the other girl infinitely more, not to mention reminded her of the way things used to be before each girl took a turn for the worse, which whether they admitted it or not, likely had to do with the other's absence.

"Yeah, you've finally lost some of that baby weight," Santana retorted, "what does that have to do with me?"

Discarding the queen bee within, the taller girl stopped fussing with the surface of Santana's dresser and looked her squarely in the eye. "I'm here to make amends. You and I have barely talked since I got kicked off the Cheerios and I was hoping we could change that."

There was a battle between rationality and vulnerability raging like rapids in the Latina's mind. The rational side knew that Quinn's proposition was genuine, thought-out, and with the best of intentions, and was urging Santana, who had missed the other girl every second since their falling out, to let her guard down and trust her. At this thought, however, her vulnerable side was cornered and terrified, unyielding in its inert need to protect herself.

"Oh, I see," she smirked haughtily, "this is about the Cheerios. Look, it's not really my place to say, but something tells me that the dartboard Coach Sylvester has with your face on it in her office knocks your chances down a peg or two."

Quinn startled Santana by laughing, an apparent mixture of amusement and frustration. "This has nothing to do with the Cheerios, and you don't need to be like this."

"Like what?" Santana quipped back, hoping to release the diva within.

"This whole... attitude. I know things have changed between us, but I'm still not convinced that this isn't an act," Quinn replied matter-of-factly.

The vulnerable side of Santana fumed, near-irate at how no matter what, the girl standing before her always seemed to get under her skin. "Whatever," was the best she could manage, proving that the normally sharp-tongued firecracker truly was thrown off her game. She stepped aside from the door only to hold it open, non-verbally urging Quinn to leave.

The blonde, however, used the break in her front as a foothold and refused to back down. She walked toward the door and pushed it shut, subsequently cornering Santana against the wooden surface.

Instead of anger, Quinn's voice was full of a desperation of sorts. "I want to go back to the day that changed everything between us. Why can't we?"

"Because what's done is done, Quinn, okay? I saw it in your eyes after your dad stormed out that things would never be the same," the darker girl replied, the defeat clear in her tone.

For a moment, the former "it" girl stood speechless, slightly confused, until a moment of realization visibly hit her. "I don't mean the day with my parents. I mean the day before that."

She wasn't sure which, but Santana was fairly certain that color was either draining from or rushing to her cheeks as she recalled the one instance she had left out of her memory montage to spare herself the pain of remembering:

_Santana clutched the build-a-bear Quinn had made her two Christmases ago as the tears continued to fall steadily. The bear's white and pink fur was long since damp with liquid drops of emotion, as even the normally guarded tough girl was not immune to adolescent heartache._

_She should have known enough to find it suspicious when Karofsky tirelessly insisted upon signing her yearbook. Not only that but he asked if he could take it to his last period class so he could "take his time" with it. Still, the tan-skinned girl obliged, and she and Quinn met up with Karofsky at the end of the day, eying his fellow baseball cronies, who were mysteriously huddled around the corner, peering on as he handed the book back to Santana._

_Both girls' eyes quickly discovered what the jerk-from-birth was truly up to when they saw slurs and insults about the Santana written over her school picture and many surrounding faces, the arrows pointing toward the Latina making it painstakingly clear who the comments were about. Laughing from their post, the other boys high-tailed it out of there, and when Santana had realized just how badly she'd been duped, she threw her yearbook at the ground and took off, trying to push past the current of students all trying to make their way to their _

_respective buses. The tear-filled ride home was additionally humiliating, and the flow hadn't stopped since then._

_She assumed the knock on her door was once again her mother, despite her several requests for privacy._

_"I don't want to talk about it, Mom!" she barked at the piece of wood._

_"Santi, it's me," came the reply, signifying to the crying girl that on the other side was the only person who called her that._

_"Come in," Santana spoke quietly, and tried to ignore the escalation of her heartbeat when the ever-radiant blonde appeared in the doorway._

_Quinn dropped her bag to the floor instantly, sitting beside Santana's feet and leaning forward to pull the smaller girl into a hug before halting, noticing the head-shaking that told Quinn she wasn't ready for whatever reason._

_"I shouldn't have left the yearbook there. Now everyone else is going to see what he wrote about me. And my parents are going to kill me for spending $90 on a yearbook that I'll never get back. What am I supposed to tell them? That I'm a slutty bimbo who got put in her place?"_

_Quinn reached for her bag pulling out a familiar looking book, "Or you can show them this one," she said, sliding it across the mattress._

_Brown eyes opened the yearbook, finding every page completely unscathed, including the one with her own picture on it. "I can't take yours, you paid for it," she said after a moment of contemplation._

_"Oh, it's not mine," Quinn corrected, "It's that asshole, Karofsky's. I stole it from him after beating his stupid head in with yours."_

_The words poured so matter of factly out of the blonde's mouth that they reached Santana's ears with even more surprise._

_"Wait - you what?" the bewildered girl asked._

_"Oh, and I grabbed these while I was at it," Quinn continued, pulling out the pages signed by Santana's true friends that she had torn out of the book by hand. "I tore up the page he defaced, too, so don't worry. Goes to show that loser has no friends, no one even signed his book yet."_

_The smile that Quinn was aching to see broke out on Santana's face as she unexpectedly lunged at the other girl, granting her the hug she had initially denied in addition to expressing her overwhelmed gratitude. She hoped Quinn hadn't noticed the goosebumps that sprung up like flowers on her arms when the taller girl rubbed the very tips of her fingers over the Latina's back, and she gently pulled back before they formed everywhere else._

_"I don't even know what to say," Santana relented, resting her hand appreciatively on her best friend's knee._

_Quinn softly smiled. "So, you feel better now?"_

_"Yes," she sighed in relief, "I was so worried. I didn't know what people would say or think..." Santana's voice trailed off for a second before going against her better judgment and saying what was on her mind, "...and when you didn't come after me, I thought..." she lowered her voice once more, not sure how to phrase it, "I thought you maybe believed all those things he wrote."_

_The hazel eyes that were moments ago dormant grew wide before instantly narrowing. "How could you think that? I would never..."_

_"It's not even anything for you to take personally, I mean, it's not like I would've blamed you or thought any less of you even, I just..."_

_Quinn startled her shorter counterpart by laughing suddenly, "Oh my God, you are so stubborn! And crazy," she said, the affection still clear in her voice as she rested both hands on Santana's, which still rested on her own thigh, "I would never say or think any of that about you. I'm the one who knows you best out of everyone and you're the complete opposite of everything they wrote. And don't you forget it," she punctuated with an extra hand squeeze._

_The words and touch of the girl beside her lit a fast-burning fuse whose heat consumed Santana's body from head to toe, and if she didn't pull focus from the eyes she was compelled to soon, she would inch dangerously closer toward breaking the "just friends" barrier once and for all._

_She quickly darted her eyes downward, picking at the first loose fabric she could find as she tended to do when she was uncomfortable. "Well, I hope you don't get in trouble for knocking around Karofsky's thick skull," she attempted in half-humor._

_"Please, he hasn't found a way to admit that he's been rejected by half the girls in the school, I can't see him owning up to little old me wailing on him," Quinn said, pausing for the laugh she knew would follow. She then purposely weaved her head downward to meet Santana's eye contact. "Besides, even if he does, at least now he knows to back off. No one messes with you."_

_And like a dam that was a mere few raindrops away from bursting, Santana's resolve completely dissipated as she freed her right hand from underneath Quinn's only to cup the blonde's cheek and pull her in for a slow, shaky kiss. She had never felt so safe, yet so terrified all at once, although her nerves calmed significantly when Quinn's hands met around her waist, pulling their bodies closer together. Three sloppy kisses interrupted only by harsh breathing were strung together before the two pulled away, locking eyes and agreeing, without words, that this long-awaited moment was perfection personified..._

"I've lost so much. Hurt so many people. Made so many life-changing mistakes, and still what I regret the most is what happened between us."

Like a blow to the stomach, Santana exhaled sharply through gritted teeth and fronted a bitter grin. "So, is that it? Is telling me that I'm your biggest regret the last of 12 steps or something?"

That was it. The last straw. Fingers raking through then pulling down on her own blonde roots, Quinn growled furiously. "My God, you really are just as stubborn as ever, aren't you?"

Fearing she was about to get hit, Santana winced when Quinn's hands rapidly neared her face, only to feel them settle on her cheeks and then feel the lips she went without for 3 years earnestly pressed to her own. A whimper evaded the Latina, whose vulnerable side made one last attempt at resisting by pushing Quinn back by her shoulders, only for the rational side to take over completely, acknowledging how much she missed the other girl's mouth in the mere seconds she had gone without it. She quickly made up for it by gripping the back of Quinn's neck to protect her head and backing her into the dresser, savoring the taste of warm breath and nearly evaporating into nothing when the blonde's tongue found its way into her mouth. The feel of their contact had certainly changed in many ways, for the better, yet in ways it still felt like they were 13, no time having passed since the days of their blissful innocence and reverent joy of belonging to one another.

Like their first, the kiss eventually broke due to lack of breath, although the intensity was escalated to a boiling point of fervent intensity. Foreheads pressed together and panting at alternating intervals, a moment passed before Quinn was finally able to speak. "I want to get to know you again, Santi," she said, nuzzling the other girl's nose in an utter refusal to stop touching her.

Santana exhaled, nodding emphatically with shimmering, wide eyes before leaning forward into another breathless kiss. While she would have agreed to just about anything proposed to her while Quinn Fabray's lips were on her own, she knew by the use of her beloved former nickname, the way peach fingers interlocked with cinnamon, and how the tip of Quinn's shoe found the curve of her foot that they had truly never stopped knowing one another.


End file.
